


He Never Meant to Fall

by Elril_Silverstar



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-05-20 14:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19378786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elril_Silverstar/pseuds/Elril_Silverstar
Summary: Wingfic!In which Crowley grapples with the aftermath of his fall, and feelings he has been suppressing for six thousand years.





	1. Preening

**Author's Note:**

> Partly inspired by a Tumblr user (could not find post in order to credit) who suggested that improperly groomed wings might lead to back pain.

They were at Crowley’s flat, and while it was not nearly as comfortable as the bookshop Aziraphale did appreciate the similarities that it bore to its owner. All hard straight lines, sharp corners and high dramatic windows, (usually heavily curtained). Now however Aziraphale had thrown back the draperies allowing the afternoon light to pour into the room. It glinted off the golden chair the angel sat in and shone on the surface of the desk in front of him. 

The reason Aziraphale had opted to welcome in the sunshine (besides thinking it might be good for the place) was to illuminate the book he was opening upon the desk. It was a weighty tome, with a spine that creaked as Aziraphale eased it open, white archivist’s gloves carefully cradling it. 

“There now,” he breathed softly to it as he gently set it down “that wasn’t so bad was it?” His expression becoming enraptured as he began to read the aged and spotted pages. 

Crowley looked over from the next room where he was tending his plants, the sight of his angel enthralled by a new book never failed to bring a smile to his lips. He observed Aziraphale for a moment before turning his attention back to the plants. He stalked around the small room, misting where needed, deadheading as required to allow the plants room to try and impress him (they never did). He wasn’t shouting at the moment, he’d tried that once while Aziraphale was with him and had gotten sternly told off. He was however muttering darkly to them and spitting out threats in a sharp hissing manner reminiscent of his serpentine form. 

As he was finishing his final stalk ‘round the room he became aware of a growing pain in his back. It started sharp between his shoulder blades and radiated out in dull throbbing waves. He grimaced and stretched attempting to alleviate it, to little avail. He let out a pained noise halfway between a groan and a hiss. 

“Achhhkkkk.” Crowley had been steadily ignoring this for weeks now but the pain was getting worse with each passing day and it was getting harder and harder to quash. He twisted about, fingers scrabbling at his back seeking some relief. He was being stupid he told himself, there was a straight forward way to deal with this rather than suffer. Trouble was he simply couldn’t bring himself to face it. 

“Something wrong dear?” Aziraphale stood in the doorway, Crowley’s distressed sound having instantly roused him from his book. He was tucking his gloves into the pocket of his jacket eyes wide with concern for Crowley who was clearly not at all alright. 

“It’s nothing, ssstupid really. Just a bit of back pain probably slept wrong and cramped something.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. Angels and demons not generally being susceptible to the sorts of  muscle cramps that so frequently plagued humans. 

“It’s obviously not nothing” Aziraphale said quietly, beginning to understand the reason for Crowley’s pained contortions. “Is it your wings darling? Have you been neglecting them again?” His voice was light, gentle, and encouraging attempting to draw the truth from his demon. 

Crowley let out a sigh that was almost a groan “yes. Fine. Alright. They need dealt with I-I just can’t. Can’t even bear to look at them, never mind  _ touch  _ them.” He voiced hitched slightly and a shudder traveled the length of his body. He lashed out a hand in a somewhat wild gesture that suggested he would collapse at the smallest provocation. 

Aziraphale was there in the blink of an eye reaching out for him as Crowley swayed on the spot and all but crumpled into his arms. Aziraphale stroked his back and Crowley let out a small desperate sound and buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. 

“Oh my love I’m so sorry you’re hurting. Perhaps I can groom them for you? That way you won’t have to look at them if you don’t want, and it’ll help with the pain.” 

Crowley attempted to answer but instead of words a wracking sob burst from him and he clung tightly to Aziraphale the way shipwrecked sailors will cling to bits of debris spinning by them in a maelstrom.

“I c- _ can’t _ .” He finally managed between sobs that continued to bubble forth. “I don’t even w-want to manifest them. It hurts too m-much.” It wasn’t physical pain, but a terrible heartrending reminder of the time before his fall. 

Aziraphale hummed empathetically rocking Crowley gently on the spot. “How about we go lay you down and then maybe we’ll see.” 

Crowley protested weakly but allowed Aziraphale to lead him to his bedroom and then ever so gently lay him out prone on the bed. The sheets were soft on his face and he managed a deep breath at last inhaling the familiar earthy and darkly floral smell. 

“There you go dear, that’s much better. Just breathe.” 

Aziraphle was gently but firmly rubbing circles into his back and he slowly relaxed under the angel’s touch. 

“You’re doing wonderfully.” Aziraphale intoned when Crowley had stilled and his breathing had returned to normal. “Let me see them love, please. When you’re ready.” 

Crowley made an indistinct but perfectly miserable noise into the mattress but managed to relax his body fully, unfurling his wings and spreading them outwards, hearing Aziraphale gasp softly at the sight. 

Wings that were once sleek, with feathers in perfect order and that were so perfectly black as to rival the wings of Death itself were now a shadow of their former glory. Their color was faded and slightly washed out making them appear dusty. The once perfect feathers were ruffled in every direction and many were broken or bent. Even worse, quite a few seemed to have fallen out leaving patchy gray down in their place.

“My sweet darling,” Aziraphale breathed softly and lent down to place a kiss at the root of  each wing. Crowley did occasionally go too long without grooming them but he couldn’t recall the situation ever being this far gone before. 

“I know, I know.” Crowley choked off a half-formed sob and shivered. “It’s  _ awful _ . It’s just that they remind me too much of Above. And then of falling and being banished Below. I know I could just  _ make  _ them better...Wouldn't be right though.” 

Aziraphale stroked a hand gently down his spine, “it’s nothing that can’t be mended. Will you allow me to put them to rights?”  

Crowley jerked his chin in a small, sharp nod. 

“Thank you love. First though I think you should be more comfortable.” He passed a hand up his demon’s body transforming his clothes into soft black pajamas. 

“There that’s better isn’t it? Now, do you have a kit or do I need to summon one?” 

“Nnngh. Closet. Top shelf,” he gestured weakly.

Raising Aziraphale went to the closet and procured the necessary cleaning kit. It was a beautiful box, made of wood and painted black with deep crimson accents outlining the edges. Settling on the bed beside Crowley he opened the box to reveal an assortment of brushes, oils and other cleaning products. “Now, let’s see…” Reaching out Aziraphale gently carded his fingers through the small feathers at the base of Crowley’s right wing. “You just relax, I’ll manage everything from here.” 

Slowly and tenderly he worked, straightening what feathers could be salvaged, oiling dry spots, combing out the downey patches where feathers had fallen out, and carefully removing those that could not be saved. Clearing the way for new growth. 

As he worked, Crowley’s breathing deepened and eventually he slipped into slumber. Gradually the sun set and the stars came out, the moon wheeled overhead as the night progressed. 

When dawn was once again streaking the sky Aziraphale sat back and sighed. He had done what he could and things were much improved, all it would take now was time for new feathers to grow in and for those left to regain their color. Silently he vowed to check on their progress regularly. Gently he folded them and laying down he pulled Crowley into his arms pressing himself tightly against his demon’s slim form. 

Crowley stirred sleepily “finished?” 

“Yes love, all finished. Let’s just rest here awhile longer.” 


	2. Shatter

“I didn’t mean to fall you know.” Crowley grumbled sleepily into Aziraphale’s chest. 

“I know. You just sauntered vaguely downwards.” Aziraphale smoothed back a few stray crimson hairs and smiled, Crowley grumbling was usually a good sign. 

“Are you feeling better?” 

Crowley shrugged noncommittally, his wings vanishing with the motion. “I’m fine angel. I  _ will be _ fine. Thank you for-.” He broke off grinding his teeth. “Akkksss. I mean. Just. Thank you.” He was almost biting off his words. Taking a breath in he pushed himself deeper into the angel’s embrace. 

Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley reassuringly, it seemed he had recovered somewhat although perhaps not completely. He shifted slightly and stretched out his own wings, enclosing both of them in a shelter of pristine silver-white feathers. 

However as soon as one of Aziraphale’s feathers touched him Crowley was moving, wriggling out of Aziraphale’s arms and pushing himself to his feet. 

“Breakfast. We should have breakfast. Or you should anyways. I’ll cook, my treat.”  He turned on his heel and with a sharp snap of his fingers turned the pajamas back into his usual attire and strode abruptly from the bedroom. 

Aziraphale sighed, sat up and stretched, tucking away his wings. Evidently Crowley had not recovered from the state he had been in the day before. Come to think of it, he had been a bit on edge the past week.. Aziraphale couldn’t work out what was wrong and Crowley had stubbornly avoided the topic, up until the night before anyways. 

Making his way down the hall he passed the (terrified) plants and the desk in the room opposite.“Oh no.” A sudden realization was rapidly dawning on him. He had been caught up in taking care of Crowley and forgotten to- 

“Oh you poor thing.” He hurried over to the book he had left lying open upon the desk. “Oh I’m so sorry, your poor spine.” Gently closing the book, he passed a finger down it’s spine. Checking for any damage he might have caused it. “Here, let’s get you out of the sunlight before you fade.” He gestured expectantly at the curtains, which politely closed themselves. 

“That’s better.” Lightly patting the book he turned and continued to the flat’s kitchen, apprehension twisting in his stomach. Crowley behaving oddly wasn’t all that uncommon, but the results were quite frequently...Chaotic.  

He entered the kitchen area to find nothing out of order and that Crowley had curled himself into a chair by the small dining table stirring a cup of coffee, regarding it disinterestedly.

There was a place setting opposite him that consisted of crepes and a cup of tea. Azirahpale sat down, lines of concern apparent on his face.

“Crowley dear, are you sure you’re alright? If there’s anything I can do…” 

“I’m  _ fine  _ angel.” He didn’t look up but stared at his coffee. His tone was weary and just a touch more brusk than was normal, the tone of someone who wishes the subject would be dropped. Then, a little more softly: “Do you want to go to the bookshop once you’ve finished?” 

“Yes, yes very much. I’ve just had some new books arrive.” Aziraphale brightened, smile lighting up his face. 

Crowley nodded, “Alright then, and how are the crepes?” 

“They’re wonderful, thank you. I thought you said you were going to cook?” 

The crepes  _ were _ wonderful the outsides were delicate and perfectly tender, the filling was a luscious mix of strawberries and clotted cream. But there was a mass produced, slightly plastic tinge to the flavors that always seemed to hang around food that had been formed from firmament.  

“I was going to. Realized that I’ve never actually bought groceries though. So.” He gestured to the plate in front of Aziraphle. 

Aziraphale decided not to comment and so moved on saying, “Why don’t you have something yourself dear. There is something rather steadying about a full stomach.”

Crowley squirmed, “Nah. I’m alright, still full from those crepes we had in Paris.” 

“That was in seventeen-ninety-three dear.” 

“Yeah. Well. Not hungry. Are you ready?” 

“Yes, shall we?” Aziraphale vanished the remains of his breakfast with a flick of the wrist, and rose to follow Crowley who was already making for the Bentley. 

One hectic, panic inducing car ride later Aziraphale was unlocking the door to the bookshop. The Bentley having skidded to a stop in the space beside the shop that always appeared to change from a no parking zone the second the sleek black car arrived. 

All was quiet in the bookshop for a time, Crowley seeming to be content to lounge in the sun sipping at a bit of tea. The companionable silence was occasionally interrupted, not so much broken as gently parted by Aziraphale humming softly or speaking lovingly to one book or another.  

Crowley watched as Aziraphale made his way about the shop, putting away books from the recent delivery. He liked the way Aziraphale spoke to his books as if each and every one was a treasured friend. 

He closed his eyes and settled further into the window seat. It was deliciously warm in the sun. 

There was something nagging at the back of his mind, his  _ episode _ the night before. He hated that he had lost control like that, hated that it had happened in front of Aziraphale. Although he knew Aziraphale would always take care of him, that he would in fact do anything Crowley asked. That made it all worse somehow. 

He took a deep breath and ignored the way his chest tightened, ignored how his heart seemed to beat a little harder. Instead he traced his fingers languidly over the wood grain of the windowsill. All at once the feeling of Aziraphale’s fingers sliding through his feathers darted to the forefront of his mind. 

Crowley shook himself and got to his feet suddenly feeling the need to move as if that might chase away the intruding thoughts. He passed Aziraphale at his desk, who greeted him with a musical 

“Hello dear” smiling over his reading glasses. 

Crowley smiled in return and pressed a kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s head. And if the demon’s smile seemed slightly strained Aziraphale did not comment. 

Crowley continued into the back room of the shop pausing here and there inspecting the different keepsakes his angel had assembled. Stubbornly ignoring the tightening sensation at the back of his throat. And the way something that was simultaneously like fire and the buzzing crackle of electricity was beginning to tug at his nerves, slowly drawing them tighter. 

Sparing a glance for the ancient desktop computer that was seldom used he reached out and opened a cupboard. There was a wooden box inside that Crowley recognized immediately and drawing it out he brushed a hand softly over its surface. It was square and unadorned, Crowley thought that out of all Aziraphale’s possessions it was the one that least resembled its owner. 

At least in shape, the colors very much reminded him of Aziraphale. It had once been white, probably a sharp, hard, and severe white. Its edges were outlined in a blue that looked like it had also been an equally hard iron-blue.   

Now however the colors had aged and faded leaving the white a soft cream, and the once hard blue was now a light pastel. Taking the box he sat down and opened it. The contents were what he had expected, a standard issue heaven preening kit. Although it looked like Aziraphale had added to it over the millennia.   

He picked up each object in turn, inspecting the assortment of bottles, jars, and brushes. Unbidden a memory cracked through his mind like lightning. For a moment the only thing he saw was blinding white, which eventually resolved itself into silver-white feathers. Zoomed in as if being held close to his face. A split second later he realized that they  _ were  _ being held close, that in fact it had been him that held them up close for inspection. 

Because they were  _ his  _ feathers, before his fall. Before he had been cast out. Before he had fallen amidst searing flame and choking smoke into a burning pool of sulphur. Before they had turned black. Before his eyes had slitted pupils. Before he had become Crawley, and then Crowley. Before when he had a different name. 

Suddenly he could stand it no longer, was no longer able to ignore the white hot burning in his throat that constricted his chest and choked him. He snapped the box shut and dropped it onto the desk as if it had bitten him. 

Frantically he stood, shaking, feeling suffocated and absolutely unable to be inside any longer. Practically sprinting he made for the door of the shop and flung it open startling Aziraphale. 

“Crowley…?” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide with worry, he could sense the panic rolling off the demon as he dashed out into the street.

Crowley only made it a few steps onto the crowded pavement the realization that this was  _ worse _ clawing at his mind. He turned to go back inside but found that he couldn’t face doing that either. Spinning on the spot his wings flickered in and then back out of view, knocking over several very surprised pedestrians. 

Crowley turned his face skyward, his expression wretched. He wanted nothing more than to fling himself into the sky, no into space. Wanted to fling himself to the furthest star and drift forever, lost in that void. He felt like he was being torn apart, like a piece of china shattering on the ground. 

Then he was being pushed, soft arms wrapping around him and a warm, soft body pushing into his. Pushing him back until he firmly met the wall of the shop, warm against his back. He wanted to scream, to cry out, or maybe snap himself right out of existence. 

But he found himself utterly unable to do any of those things, so he did the only thing left to do. Just as he had the night before he folded like wet paper mache into Aziraphale’s arms. 


	3. Chewing Gum and Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s because of you. Because of us.” Crowley chanced a look at Aziraphale, whose expression was both wounded and shocked.

 

Running out of the bookshop after Crowley, Aziraphale found his love casting about desperately. Looking for all the world like he wanted shred his corporeal form and vaish into the ether. So he did the only thing he could think of, he went to his demon and wrapped himself around him. Holding tightly, pressing both of them into the wall of the bookshop. All in an effort to ground Crowley, to prevent him from fleeing or exploding on the spot, to physically hold him together. 

When Aziraphale felt Crowley return his embrace he knew the worst had passed. All the same he waited for him to stop shaking before the angel dared to move. Long minutes dragged by, at last Crowley looked up.

“I think people are staring.” 

“Are they? Hadn’t noticed, right now my only concern is you dear.” Aziraphale pulled back slightly to appraise Crowley, who looked drawn and utterly exhausted. Although his manner was quickly resolving itself into one of self consciousness.

“People are definitely staring.” 

“Will you let me take you inside for some tea?”     

Crowley didn’t respond. Nevertheless, Aziraphale wrapped one arm firmly around his waist and keeping hold of his hand lead him into the bookshop. Once inside Aziraphale gently lowered him into an armchair, pushing a cup of tea into his hands.  

“Now,” Azirahale perched himself on a chair opposite,“whatever is the matter?” 

Crowley turned away, his angel’s gaze a little too piercing even through his sunglasses. 

“Darling.” Aziraphale’s tender hands cupped his face, gently tugging off his glasses. A hand came to rest on the demon’s knee. 

“Please tell me what the matter is love.” 

“I’m fine. Nothing I can't handle ” 

“That's obviously not true.” Aziraphale countered flatly. 

When Crowley remained silent the angel sighed and pulled back, but the demon was quicker, fingers firmly encircling his wrist. 

“Don’t go anywhere,  _ please. _ ” it was a plea, vestiges of panic making Crowley’s voice jump. 

Aziraphale took his hand and pressed it gently between both of his own. “I’m not going anywhere. Now, will you kindly tell me what is wrong?” 

“It’s because of you. Because of us.” Crowley chanced a look at Aziraphale, whose expression was both wounded and shocked.

“Wha…?” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide now, and he looked on the verge of tears. 

“That’s not what I meant, no please don’t- nono…” Seeing Aziraphale hurt was worse,  _ so much worse  _  than his own pain. He crawled into Aziraphale’s lap showering his head and face with kisses, before covering Aziraphale’s lips with his own, kissing all his love into his angel. When Crowley reluctantly pulled back, breath coming sharp and ragged he rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s, wanting to reassure his angel.

Aziraphale cradled Crowley gently, one hand cupping the side of his face, the other lightly clutching at a sharp hip.

 “Wh-when you say  _ because of us _ , has this-have  _ I  _ done something? I’d just hate to think that I had done something to hurt you.” His voice broke slightly and his eyes shone with tears. 

“No.” Crowley kissed him again, a soft lingering kiss this time. “You’ve done nothing to hurt me angel,” he breathed against Aziraphale’s lips. “I’m soft. You’ve made me soft. Err, well,  _ softer _ anyways.” 

Aziraphale pushed the ball of his thumb into the point of Crowley’s hip, “you sure?” 

Crowley huffed a laugh against Aziraphale’s cheek, “that’s not what I meant  _ angel.”  _

“What  _ did _ you mean dear?” 

“Before. Before we made things,  _ us _ …..Before we made things, uh, whatever it is that humans make things. Before  _ that _ , there were things I didn’t think about. Jusssst, walled off. Pretended they weren’t there. But being around, being  _ with _ you has softened all those walls. And now things are leaking through.”

“Bad things?” 

“Ye-no,"ahhhkkk. Just. Hard things…” He trailed off. 

“Will you tell me about them? Perhaps I can help.”

Crowley didn’t respond, wriggling around so that instead he was curled in Aziraphale’s lap. Long legs draped over the side of the armchair. 

“You said that your wings are a difficult reminder of Heaven for you...These things that are leaking through, is it-are they to do with when you Fell?” 

"Nh-Ye...Kind of." 

"Memories of Heaven perhaps?" 

"Not memories exactly, more like flashes. Sort of comes in waves. Sort of like remembering a dream." 

"Is that what was happening to you dear?"

Crowley only nodded burrowing into Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

The angel held him closer, stroking the back of his neck. 

“It’s going to be okay my dearest. What if I help with your wings for a while? Perhaps that might make things easier for you.” 

Crowley made an unintelligible noise, nodding into the angel’s shoulder.

“Alright love,” Aziraphale stroked his fingers gently through crimson hair. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”  


End file.
